


Your Honor

by prizewinningfruitcake



Series: Bitten [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Fights, carver takes his shirt off, do you need to know more
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-16 21:05:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16961430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prizewinningfruitcake/pseuds/prizewinningfruitcake
Summary: Carver takes his shirt off to fight people. Merrill has his back.





	Your Honor

“She can’t sleep here.”

“Why not?” Merrill asks, and the barkeep grumbles as if she’s given him cheek.

“They don’t want people drooling and pissing themselves at the bar, do they, Sister?” Carver nudges Marian hard, and she swats at him without opening her eyes.

She won’t get up on her own. Carver swears, grabs her around the middle and throws her over his shoulder, then carries her to Varric’s room and dumps her in his bed.

Merrill follows and wonders what it must feel like to be able to pick someone up just like that. “Won’t Varric be cross when he gets back?” she says.

“Not my problem,” Carver replies. He straightens up and they look at each other without speaking. “Come on. I’ll walk you home.”

She breathes easier. Carver speaks so harshly sometimes, and she wonders if she’s said or done something wrong. But she hasn’t. Even if she had, Carver would still insist on accompanying her through Lowtown in the dark.

“You don’t have to,” she assures him, as she always does, knowing what he’ll say.

“Yes I do.”

There’s still a decent crowd for this time of night, people Merrill’s never seen before. Edwina mutters to herself as she sweeps up broken glass; some men chugging pints earlier smashed their mugs on the floor. Merrill catches her eye, waves a goodbye and a _good luck_.

“Ready?” Carver places a hand on her shoulder, guiding her ahead of him, and there’s a spike of laughter from the table beside them.

It’s not nice laughter. There’s something mean about it, something cruel. The kind of laughter she’s learned to avoid. And they were looking at them earlier, from across the room. Silly of her, probably, to think every little thing is about her, but those men do make her nervous. She’s glad to be leaving.

Except they aren’t leaving. She’s almost reached the door when she notices Carver isn’t behind her.

“Something funny?”

_By the Dread Wolf_. He’s got his hands on the table, leaning in, and - three, four, _five_ faces leering up at him.

“Unpucker your cunt, dog boy.” The man who speaks is older than them, with strikingly blue eyes and a deep jagged scar on his neck. “Go on with your knife ear, get your dick stabbed. No one’s stopping you.”

_Stabbed? Why would he_ -

Carver reaches over, a gesture so casual it barely registers, and flicks the man between the eyes.

“Carver-”

A rush of movement, feet shuffling, chair legs scraping, and everyone’s on their feet. Carver stands chest-to-chest with the blue-eyed man, circling, cursing in each other’s faces, and the thought crosses Merrill’s mind that he really is like a dog sometimes. Not that that’s an insult.

“Carver!”

She starts forward to grab his arm and pull him away, but the man’s friends crowd her out. He’s outnumbered. She casts about vainly hoping for Isabela or Varric or Marian, but no. It’s only them, unarmed. And she can’t use magic in here. Not if she wants to keep her nose clean.

Carver’s wrists appear over the line of heads, tugging at something, a sliver of bare skin, and - _Creators_. He’s taken his shirt off.

There’s a commotion, indignant shouting. Merrill stands on her toes, jostled by the crowd. The man swings, but Carver barrels forward, lifting him and throwing him. A roar, a crash as he lands hard against the table.

“What in the bloody fucking void do you idiots think you’re doing?“ The barkeep climbs over the bar, knocking over another pint.

Poor Edwina will have to clean up after all this.

The bodies part, enough for her to see boots sticking out from the overturned table. Carver stands over the mess, lip bloodied, fists raised defensively, but-

But there’s still four of them.

They converge on him, absent their leader, and the moment lasts long enough for Merrill to wonder where his shirt’s gone.

Carver tosses another one, not as dramatically this time. He’ll get back up. Another swings at him, but he ducks and lands a blow to the nose, sending him reeling backward.

One bent double gushing from his face, one out, one on the ground but barely. A shape behind him. _Turn around turn around turn around_.

She doesn’t have her staff. Whirling for some blunt object, she grabs a chair and rams forward.

“ _OOummff_ ”

She connects against flesh and bone, sending the man sprawling. Heat rises in her throat, the laughter from earlier in her ears. She’s tempted to hex him, but she settles for dropping the chair onto him.

“OUT! OUT! OUT! OUT! OUT!”

The barkeep has finally made it over. Merrill turns and lets her hands fall to her sides. Carver wipes his lip with the back of his hand and spits on the ground.

“For _fuck’s_ sake, next time anyone name of Hawke causes me grief, you’ll be banned for the rest of the year, mark my fucking words.”

“Oh, come on,” Carver protests. He’s gathering his shirt, pulling it back on.

“Are you still here? Get OUT.” The barkeep grabs the only other man still standing by the shirt collar and shoves him towards the door.

The men scatter once they’re outside. “She’s a fucking demon,” one of them calls, presumably about her.

Carver takes her upper arm and leads them a ways. He’s out of breath, sweat glistening on his neck, dampening the back of his shirt.

He reaches a corner and turns to her. “Are you alright?”

She nods. “Fine.” There’s still a bit of blood on his lower lip, and though he seemed so collected back at the bar, his eyes are wide and dark. He’s still holding her arm, her other hand resting at his elbow.

“I -” He withdraws his hand, looks away, but doesn’t quite step back. “I had it, back there.”

She nods. “I know.” Her hands have started shaking, and she wishes he hadn’t let go of her.

He starts walking again; she moves with him, abuzz with nervous energy.

Carver turns to her again, stopping short. “Thank you, though. That was,” he huffs a laugh, “amazing.”

She smiles, a swell of pride as they fall back into step. He sticks close by her.

“Oh, _knife ear_ ,” she snaps her fingers as the Alienage comes into view. “That’s why you’d get stabbed.”

“Assholes,” Carver growls.

“Not a very good pun,” she muses. “Why would my ears-”

“They’re stupid, Merrill. Don’t bother.”

“Hey.” She catches his wrist and squares with him. It’s easy to move him; he doesn’t resist her. He’s usually hard to look in the eye, but not right now, and before she can think she runs her thumb over his bruised lower lip.

“I, um. Sorry. Does that-”

He exhales hard, fingertips over her outstretched hand, keeping her there. His hands are shaking as well.

“-hurt?” she finishes.

“No,” he breathes, and she hooks around the back of his neck to bring him to her, stretching upwards to meet him.

His lips are warm and taste slightly metallic. When he starts to pull away, she pulls him back, opening her eyes to find his shut tight. She stays there until her feet start to hurt, and she stands back on her heels again, brushing the stubble on his chin as she reluctantly lets go.

Carver smiles bigger than she’s ever seen him do, touching a hand to his cheek.

“I had better get home,” he says.

She nods, the corners of her own mouth lifting uncontrollably.

“I’ll come back, though. If you want me to.”

“Yes,” she says. He moves in again, hurried, their teeth clinking together like glasses. _Cheers_ , she thinks, but doesn’t say.

Giddy, dizzy, she finds her door. He stands at the gate until he sees her go inside.


End file.
